


These Words in My Lungs like Ice

by CharacterDevelopment



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demons, F/M, Future Fic, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharacterDevelopment/pseuds/CharacterDevelopment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison Argent will not let Derek Hale know he affects her. She is not a flimsy tree swaying in the wind. She’s an oak… or a thick maple or an elm or something. Look the point is: she’s strong. And she’s not going to let someone like Derek Hale make her smile or laugh or do anything remotely sunny. She will not dance for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Words in My Lungs like Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts).



> Ah, for the lovely Daunt. It was such a pleasure being able to write this for you: a new pairing, and a new trope. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it!
> 
> Just a little background on the story that's probably not very necessary, but I'm thorough, so: Cameron, the male OC, was a friend of Allison when she was a kid. They didn't grow up together, but he had a lot of influence on her younger years. His family was close with hers because of the hunting thing she didn't know anything about (yay canonical plot lines). Anyway, the Argent's moved a lot but they always kept in touch with Cameron's family. Cameron is currently employed by Allison's father and he gets his enjoyment from making her life a living hell. Yeaaaaaah hunting buddies!
> 
> ALSO: a big thanks to pr1nc3ssp34ch for beta-ing in such a short span of time. You are truly my home girl.

Her phone buzzes irritatingly across the desk and bumps into her half empty mug of coffee. Allison hits the speaker button and turns to the next page in her anthropology textbook.

“Argent,” she says, probably sounding as dead and bland as six chapters worth of reading about stone tools can make a person.

The voice that filters through is slightly static-y but wholly unmistakable.  

“Hey, it’s me. We’ve got a problem.”

Allison clicks the pen in her hand.

“You mean you’ve got a problem.”

“ _I mean_  I’ve held your hair back as you vomited seven shots worth of Smirnoff into a sink. We’ve got a problem."

Allison sighs. Rubs her temples. Wishes in that moment that a large lightning bolt would come down from the sky and through the window to fry her cellphone into a tiny pile of ash.

“Okay, okay. What is it?”

“Home.”

“What?” she says. Maybe she didn’t hear correctly—

“Well, your home, specifically. I talked to your dad and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. You talked to my dad? Cameron!”

“What? Allison, the guy gives me a paycheck. I can’t just not talk to him.”

Allison spins around in her chair and faces the door. She feels petulant, and frustrated and guilty because of it but she’s currently hanging onto sanity by its last thread. She doesn’t really have the mental capacity to deal with the supernatural, let alone the Beacon Hills supernatural.

“Alright, alright,” she sighs, rolling her ankles and trying to get the blood flowing back to her legs, “what it is this time?”

* * *

 _Demons_ , Allison thinks, a little hysterically, as she picks her way through the close-set trees surrounding her, _snow demons. How is that even possible_?

Cameron had described them as “a bit like the abominable snowman in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, y’know? The stop motion one.” And then he’d laughed like it was funny and not the most ridiculous thing in the universe and therefore absolutely terrifying. It reminded her of when she had been eight and he, fifteen and he’d told her that babies came from having sex. And when Allison had asked him what ‘sex’ was, he’d looked her full in the face and said, “It’s a ceremony where people sacrifice bunnies to God.”

Allison makes the same face at the snow crunching beneath her boots as she had when she’d learned that her parents were not, in fact, bunny killers and they had sat her down and explained to her the ups and downs of the birds and the bees—just without the weird cross-species intermingling. Her parents had never been fond of euphemisms. Her mother, especially, hadn’t cared for things like lies or half-truths.

 _And now she’s dead because of them_ , Allison thinks, the words ash in her mouth.

The sound of another pair of feet crunching along the ground draws Allison from her thoughts and she stills, her breath fogging heavy in the air. She peers around at the trees but sees nothing except leafless branches covered in downy white and a sparse tree root here and there. A beat passes and then she hears the sound again and whirls around, hand going reflexively to the stash of arrows on her back.

There’s nothing there but she pulls an arrow out anyway, nervously thumbing the feathered end and knocking it. She has no idea what good arrows will do against snow demons, but hopefully they’ll at least give her a chance to make a quick getaway. She jumps a little in her boots as a bird takes off into the sky above her head, the flapping of its wings the only sound in the snow muffled silence.

“Pull yourself together,” Allison whispers, “you’re an Argent. You are the daughter of Victoria Argent. The granddaughter of Genevieve Argent. You’ve fucking got this. You’ve—”

“—Got leaves in your hair."

Allison spins, almost slipping, but lands steadily with her bow pointed straight in a face that definitely does not belong to a snow demon.

Derek Hale is wearing fucking plaid.

* * *

Derek points a little above her left ear.

“What?” Allison says.

“You’ve got leaves in your hair.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Derek says.

Allison squints.

“Aren’t you a little young to be playing crazy lumberjack guy in the woods?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be playing Robin Hood?”

Allison sniffs and Derek says nothing until—“Is there a reason you still have an arrow pointed in my face?”

Allison shrugs, keeping her trigger finger steady.

“Obviously there’s still a part of me that wants to shoot you.”

“Is it planning on going away anytime soon,” Derek asks drily.

Allison shrugs again.

“Right,” he says.

Allison wonders when Derek decided to grow his stubble into a full beard. It’s dark and thick and a healthy contrast against his rosy cheeks and knit wool hat. She looks down. The jeans he’s wearing have a small hole in the left thigh.

“Did your house burn down again?” she asks.

Derek flinches.

“No,” he says stiffly.

“Then why does it look like you stole a homeless man’s clothes?”

Derek does this motion with his face that gives off the impression that he doesn’t think she’s clever or funny and knows exactly where to hide dead bodies. She readjusts her grip on the bow.

“My clothes are fine. They’re clothing my body. That’s the point of them.”

Allison glances at her cute, fingerless gloves.

“There is a whole fashion industry that would like to disagree,” she says.

She thinks Derek gives her a once over and her stomach clenches, body automatically trying to make itself smaller. Derek raises an eyebrow.

“Did you come all the way back to Beacon Hills just to insult me?”

 _Yes_ , Allison thinks.

“I hate to break it to you, Derek, but you’re really not as important as you think you are.”

Derek’s eyebrows do something funny and he makes a motion with his hands like _get on with it_.

Allison sighs.

“No, I came back for the demons.”

“The Oni are back?” Derek asks. “Is someone possessed again?”

Allison waves her hand.

“No, no. Different demons. Snow demons.”

Derek blinks.

“Snow… demons.”

Allison rolls her eyes.

“Yes, I had the same reaction. No, I’m not making this up.”

Derek opens his mouth.

“Cameron called me.”

Derek shuts his mouth.

Allison throws her hands, bow and all, into the air, exasperation filling her voice as she says, “Oh, so you question my authority but not Cameron’s? Could you be more of a sexist asshole?”

Derek, for probably the first time in his life, looks sheepish. The way his jaw tilts down in his jacket makes him look a bit of a frightened turtle retreating into its shell.

“He’s a credible source,” Derek says evasively.

Allison’s expression turns sly.

“You respect him because he gutted you that one time, don’t you?”

Derek scratches his beard and looks away, drawing Allison’s attention back to it. It’s not fair he’s good looking. Allison may hate him for it.

“So what do these terrible snow demons do anyhow?” Derek asks and then he smirks. “Do they go around stabbing people to death with a carrot nose?”

Allison does this motion with her face that hopefully gives off the impression that she doesn’t think he’s clever or funny and knows exactly where to hide dead bodies. Derek stops smirking.

“I don’t know what they do exactly or how they do it. All I know is that Cameron and his guys found more than 5 separate occasions where the victims died of hypothermia in the last two months,” says Allison.

“And we suspect that it’s demons because…?” Derek prompts.

Allison grinds her teeth.

“Because all the victims left their houses within 10 to 15 minutes of their supposed accidents which isn’t enough time to cause fatality, even if they weren’t all wearing weather appropriate clothing. And because the temperature in all of the cases never dropped below 30.”

“Okay,” Derek says, “but how do we know its demons, why not something else?”

“Lydia called,” Allison says simply.

Derek clears his throat.

“Oh,” he says, “how is she… by the way?”

Allison’s never really understood Derek and Lydia’s relationship. Derek’s tried to kill her. Derek’s saved her life. Lydia’s solved a lot of his problems and murdered his uncle. Allison thinks he might be a little afraid of her. He respects her, she knows that. But he never contacts her out of anything but necessity.

“Fantastic,” Allison says. “She’s Lydia.”

“Yeah,” Derek says and it trails off awkwardly.

It’s in that proceeding silence that Allison realizes they’ve been talking for more or less than 10 minutes and she hasn’t found or been attacked by any snow demons and that if she stands here any longer, her feet might congeal to the ground.

“Okay, I’m leaving. Have a nice life. Don’t call.”

Derek looks at her like she’s crazy.

“You don’t honestly think I’m going to let you go after the demons alone?”

Allison shoulders her bow and tightens her expression.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, and so can they,” Derek says, “I’m coming with you.”

Allison opens her mouth to make a lonely puppy joke but thinks better of it and closes her mouth.

“Fine,” she says shortly, “but walk behind me. And don’t get in my way.”

Derek looks amused as she turns on her heel.

“And don’t look at my ass,” she tacks on as an afterthought, and starts walking.

* * *

The tips of Allison’s fingers are cold and there’s nothing she can do about it and it’s pissing her off. The fact that Derek’s presence keeps drawing her thoughts back to him is also pissing her off. She’s never really had the opportunity to notice until now, but Derek breathes really loudly. Like he’s doing it through his mouth. Allison contemplates e-mailing him a coupon later for scuba gear but realizes he most likely wouldn’t get the joke and Allison would be left with nothing but a weird impression and the realization that she took the time to send Derek Hale an e-mail just to make fun of his breathing habits. Allison’s train of thought is making her miss Stiles, so she shrugs it away.

They’ve been walking for almost an hour and still no sighting of demons, snow or otherwise. Allison is tired but she refuses to show any weakness in front of an audience and trudges on with her shoulders held high. It’s only when they reach the edge of a cliff that hangs over a small river that she stops.

“What river is this?” Allison asks, breaking the quiet between her and Derek. He comes to a stop a yard or two behind her.

“Beacon Hills River,” Derek says and Allison rolls her eyes, glancing back at him.

“Don’t be an assho—oh,” she says, catching his expression, “you’re serious.”

“Yeah.”

She creeps closer to the edge and looks over it.

Derek speaks to her back.

“Where were the victims’ bodies found?”

“Uh… in snow banks, I’m pretty sure.”

Allison watches the water flow smoothly over the rocks dotting either sides of the river. It’s pretty, the center of it not too dark of a blue but clearly deep. Allison takes a deep breath and her nose is filled with the scent of pine. She wonders if Derek can taste it. She turns around to find him tapping a tree further away.

“What are you doing?” She calls.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He answers back. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

That does not make her smile. She works her jaw around until she can keep straight face. She will not let Derek Hale know he affects her. She is not a flimsy tree swaying in the wind. She’s an oak… or a thick maple or an elm or something. Look, the point is: she’s strong. And she’s not going to let someone like Derek Hale make her smile or laugh or do anything remotely sunny. She will not dance for him.

She breathes out through her nose like a normal person and takes a step forward. There’s a weird creaking noise, like an air bubble under wooden flooring being stepped on and then she’s falling backwards and downwards, the cliff above her getting further and further away until she hits something so cold and hard it feels like a pure block of ice. The river pulls her under and down.

If you’ve never been submerged in freezing water, it feels a lot like you’re being set on fire or like every inch of your skin is being stabbed with a thousand needles all at once. Allison can’t breathe, her head is pounding, she feels incredibly weighted like she’s gained an extra thirty pounds. She struggles to figure out which way is up and the force of the river slams her into the side of the cliff and it hurts, it hurts more than even the cold. Allison is starting to panic, everything is heavy, even her eyeballs. She grabs the cliff for guidance and does her best to move towards the surface. And it’s working, it’s working until it’s not.

The hem of her pant leg is caught on something, and she doesn’t know if it’s a rock or weed or some weird, unmoving river creature. All she knows is that there are black spots swimming in her vision from lack of oxygen and how if she dies, she’s never going to have the chance to be rimmed and how inappropriate that is to have as a last thought. And then everything is dark and weightless and she’s not thinking much of anything anymore.

* * *

She comes to with Derek’s mouth on hers and coughs water all over his face.

“Sorry,” she croaks, even though she is not, in fact, sorry. She can’t feel her toes.

Derek grabs her by the elbow and pulls her to her feet and she yelps because she can still feel her shoulder and it aches like a mother fucker.

“What—what’s wrong?” Derek says, looking vaguely panicked.

“My arm,” Allison says, and rubs it gingerly. It hurts, and she probably bruised the bone.

She’s confused when Derek takes off his jacket and places it around her shoulders until she realizes her whole body is almost convulsing with shivers and if she pouts her bottom lip and looks straight down, she can see it’s a light shade of blue.

“I’m cold,” she says, dumbly.

“Do you have something against piggy back rides?” Derek asks.

Allison looks up, confused.

“It’s faster if I carry you.”

* * *

Allison is so cold by the time they get back to Derek’s that all her bones ache and her teeth won’t stop chattering.

“Y-you liv-ve in a ca-abin in the w-woods?” Allison says, stumbling as Derek lowers her to the ground in the doorway.

“No Theroux jokes,” Derek says and starts stripping her.

Two people taking wet clothes off of one person when one of them can’t feel their fingers is incredibly difficult and finally Derek just bats them away. He unlaces her boots and pulls off her socks and lets her lean on his shoulders as he does so and then he’s thumbing the button of her jeans open and dragging them down her legs. Soon they’re nothing but a sopping, dark pile on the floor. He makes her lift her arms up so he can pull her shirt up over her head. It joins her pants.

Allison feels so exposed in nothing but her underwear and her thighs look so pale but she doesn’t have the time to be embarrassed because Derek’s warm hand his pulling her by the wrist up the staircase and she has to concentrate on not falling with her flat, tingling feet. She stands there, shaking in the middle of a bedroom until Derek comes out in nothing but his underwear and holding a towel. He scrubs her dry as quickly as he can and then lets her wrap her hair up in it.

He pushes her towards the bed and she climbs under the sheets and covers gratefully. She tries to curl herself in a ball and wrap her fingers around her toes, but then Derek is manhandling her around and bringing his chest to hers. And his skin is so hot that Allison shakes and shivers and let out a pathetic little noise. Derek slides his arms under hers and his legs through hers and effectively gives Allison a full body hug. She’s grateful for that too.

She doesn’t stop shivering for two hours, intermittently having Derek rub her calves to get the blood back moving when she starts to cramp up. They don’t say much to each other than, “What happens if I ha-ave to go to the-the bathroom?” And “Your toes feel like ice.” In Allison’s hazy mind, she thinks Derek would be a good person to watch a movie with. Silent except for the loud breathing. She drifts off in Derek’s arms thinking about warm blankets and popcorn kernels.

* * *

When Allison wakes, her face is smashed into the space between Derek’s impressive pectorals and she’s somehow managed to end up on top of him. She’s not shivering anymore. She realizes with a weird feeling in her gut that his thumb is hooked in her left bra strap. Allison decides to run away from weird feelings for now and joins Derek back in sleep.

* * *

When she wakes again, she’s alone but the sheets are warm. There’s light streaming through the blinds and giving the room a gold hue. Allison flips over onto her back and stares at the ceiling and thinks about snow demons. She thinks how they’re probably still out there and how she’s done nothing to help and when she calls Cameron, he’s going to laugh at her and the idea makes her tired.

She closes her eyes and thinks about Derek and how she’s probably in debt to him now for saving her life. _I can take care of myself_ , Allison thinks and starts laughing. And she keeps on laughing until there are tears running down her face and nothing to do but let them fall. _Pathetic_ , Allison thinks, _just pathetic_.

There’s a knock on the door and Allison wipes her face messily. Derek peeks his head in, face betraying no emotion.

“I put your clothes in the wash. So you can borrow something of mine.”

He points to the dresser and when she nods in understanding, he leaves again.

She feels sluggish as she stands and then slowly dresses, like she’s trying to wade through oil and failing. Her everything is sore and her hands shake as she rolls the waist of the sweatpants to keep them from sliding off her hips. It makes them floods but when she pulls on the wool socks, she doesn’t care. She fingers a soft sweater in its drawer and realizes she’s never seen it before. She pulls it on, wondering if more than Derek’s wardrobe has changed since she left for school.

Allison makes it down the stairs with the help of the bannister and a lot of determination, and when she collapses into a seat at the kitchen table, Derek sets a plate of pancakes and a glass of orange juice in front of her.

She smiles a small smile of gratitude at him and his face does something complicated before he walks away. She eats in silence.

* * *

“Thank you,” Allison says. Her voice sounds gritty. She wants to brush her teeth.

Derek sets down his book.

“For what?”

“For saving my life, for not kicking me out of bed, for making me breakfast. I don’t know, pick one.”

Derek looks at her, and he keeps on looking at her until it feels like his gaze is trying to bore its way through her skull. She rubs at her bruised shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” he says, eventually, but he doesn’t pick the book back up.

They stare at each other.

She feels magnetized, when she walk towards the bed, like she has no control of her feet at all. But Derek just lifts up the covers and wraps his arms around her as she curves her body into his chest.

“Thank you,” Allison says again, her voice cracking.

Derek’s arms tighten.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank—”

Allison whispers into his chest until her whole body stops its wracking sobs against his and when she finally drifts off to sleep, his hand is rubbing consoling circles against her back.

* * *

When Allison wakes up she decides she needs to stop falling asleep.

It’s noon. Derek is warm and has a boner. Allison lies there and appreciates the feeling of it against her hip until she realizes that’s creepy and gets up to use the bathroom. After she’s done peeing and washing her hands, she grabs the toothpaste on the counter and brushes her teeth with her finger. She splashes water on her face and guiltily uses Derek’s deodorant. She decides it’s a really weird experience to sniff your armpits and smell Derek Hale but it’s a lot nicer than B.O.

When she climbs back into Derek’s bed and next to Derek, he’s awake and boner-less and it make her insides feel funny. She shouldn’t feel sad when someone she barely knows’ boner goes away. It wasn’t even for her.

“Thanks,” she tells him, an echo of earlier.

“Please don’t start crying again,” he says back.

“Okay,” she says, and then, “I’m wearing your deodorant.”

Derek looks down at her, tucking his chin to his chest.

“I know, I can smell it.”

Allison narrows her eyes.

“What else can you smell?”

Derek makes a small shrug.

“Everything. Nothing if I ignore it. Why, got something to hide?”

Allison runs a finger up the center of his chest, “We all do.”

He blinks at her and she bares her teeth at him.

“Unless you’re telling me you’ve got no secrets,” Allison says.

Derek catches her hand and flattens it against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat.

“I’ve got no secrets,” he says and his heart doesn’t jump.

“Liar.”

He lets her hand go, says, “We all are.”

And it’s not like she can deny him so she doesn’t, she drags her finger down his side and counts his ribs.

His stomach clenches. She does it again and it has the same reaction. She looks him in the eye before laying a hand over his abs and he clenches for her a third time. _Fuck_ that’s weird. But at the same time really cool and kind of hot.

She decides to make a choice. Either continue lying here, having a conversation that feels a lot walking a tight rope, or stop talking all together. She decides she talks too much already.

Allison clambers up onto her knees and throws her leg over Derek’s, situating herself comfortably in his lap. The expression on his face is surprised but not angry or repulsed. She runs her finger down his chest again.

“I’m a really bad kisser.”

And he laughs, loud and kind of dorky, before grabbing her by the back of the neck and pulling her down against him.

“Liar,” he says and then kisses her.

He’s got a soft mouth, and it’s such a contrast to the roughness of his beard. And Allison likes the way he drags both down her neck.

“I hate your beard,” she gasps as he sucks on her earlobe and he makes this rumbly noise in his chest like an overgrown cat and flips them over. Allison never once imagined herself looking debauched and spread eagle on Derek Hale’s bed but it turns out she’s completely okay with it.

Derek looks down at her.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that sweater. It’s hideous.”

Allison pulls it over head and whips it at Derek’s face.

“False. I look good in everything.”

And Derek either agrees or doesn’t feel like arguing because all he does is drop the sweater on the floor and start kissing his way down her chest. She threads her fingers through his hair.

“Seriously,” Allison says, voice strained, “I look good in chaps. I look good in thigh length khaki shorts.”

“I don’t know why this is doing it for me, but keeping going,” Derek says and bites her side.

She arches, laughing, “I look good in those fur lined crocs, and the white skechers with the big sparkly S on the side.” Derek kisses down her stomach and her voice gets higher, breathier, “I look good in cheerleader uniforms, and mickey mouse costumes, and I really, really, really, think I’d look good in you.”

She holds her breath as he looks up at her, eyes glassy and she grins, pulling on his hair. He surges back up and kisses her soundless. The way his tongue slides over hers is kind of perfect and she likes the way he sucks on her bottom lip.

He grinds his boxer clad cock against her hip and she’s suddenly completely okay with the idea of being devoured and she says as much. She has never seen a man naked with condoms so quickly in her life and she can’t stop the fit of laughter that accompanies it. When he pulls her panties down her thighs, she’s not sad to see them go. And when he slides a finger inside her, she forgets the point of them at all.

He sucks a bruise against her hip and thumbs her clit and the only way Allison could possibly be happier would be if he had his mouth on her—which he was obviously getting to and fuck that feels good. Allison’s going to write a handbook on cunnilingus and it’s going to be based on this. He slides two fingers inside her and curls them all while sucking on her clit and she lets out a sharp noise that may or may not have been his name.

But that would be kind of impossible considering she can’t really remember it or anything else other than the feeling of his three of his fingers pumping inside her.

“Hey, Derek,” she gasps.

He hums into her and her toes curl.

“I would really, really, really love it if you would fuck me now.”

Derek moans a negative and her hips buck up against his face.

“Fuck,” she says, “stop doing that. I’m gonna come.”

Derek peers up at her with a half lidded eye and gives her the most scathing look one can possibly give while they’re eating you out.

“I would like to do it around something bigger than your tongue,” she adds and smiles when he slides his fingers from her, giving her one last lick like he’s sad to go. It makes her think about that puppy joke she never voiced earlier, but she keeps quiet as he rolls on a condom.

He presses inside her while looking her straight in the eyes, which is, whoa, super intimate. She doesn’t think she’s ever see his irises this close before. They’re pretty like the rest of him, of course. Derek slides all the way inside and she gets a brief pleasure of being completely filled before he’s pulling out again.

He fucks her with the pace of someone who’s never heard of the word “erratic.” It’s measured and delicious and it makes her grab onto his hips as he rolls them. When she digs her hands into the meat of his ass, his pelvis grinds against her clit. So she keeps on doing it, until they’re doing little more than gyrating against each other, his cock filling her up so much she thinks she can feel it in her stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Allison says, her words matching the rhythmic smacking of his hips. Allison thinks she’s going to come and god she wants it so bad, wants probably more than anything in her life. She shoves his head down and he sucks her nipple into his mouth. She moans, and shit, it’s kind of loud. She’s suddenly really happy Derek lives in the middle of the forest.

He slides his hand between them and frigs her furiously until she can do little more than arch up into the sensations: his dick filling her up, his mouth on her breasts, his fingers on her clit. She comes clenching around him and it’s so sweet, the high, like pure pleasure shooting from her cunt to the rest of her body. It’s the kind of orgasm you can feel in your fingers and toes and Allison clenches them too. Derek groans, this long drawn out noise, as his hips stutter. They keep up their not-rhythm until he finally comes too, biting the side of her breast and leaving a mark.

He collapses half on top of her, their bodies exhausted and sweat-slicked.

When she gets her breath back, Allison says, “You’re really bad at that.”

Derek laughs into her shoulder.

“You too,” Derek says. “Absolutely terrible.”

Allison throws her arms behind her head, stretching the tight muscles and gets a whiff of Derek’s deodorant, which is still going strong.

“Damn,” Allison says, “we could be an advertisement for this stuff.” And Derek makes a wheezing noise into the mattress. Allison pats his head.

“Me too, buddy, me too.”

* * *

Cameron and the other hunters figure out a witch has been casting spells for snow in northern California, and keeps thinking they’re not working. All she wanted was a snow day, and what she gave Beacon Hills was a serious head cold and a few more dead bodies. She apologizes profusely and vows to never use that spell again. Cameron gives her Deaton’s phone number.

Allison goes back to school and aces all her finals. She tells her dad who congratulates her, Lydia who already knew, and then Derek who’s very quiet on the phone.

“Hey,” she says, when there’s a lull in the conversation, “have you ever wanted to have sex in a shitty dorm bed?” She grins when he says yes.

Allison spins around in her desk chair, before crossing another line off her list.

TO DO:

·         ~~Call Derek and make sure he’s still into you~~

·          ~~Ask him to come visit you / make sure he knows sex is on the table~~

·         Bring up the idea of rimming

She texts Cameron:

**Hey, still got that job opportunity down in BH? I’ve got a supernatural itch to scratch.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> /end scene
> 
> Fun fact, I had the idea for this story as soon as I received Daunt's favorite tropes in an email but I never got around to really writing it. So I would like to apologize to my body (and my teachers for falling asleep in class) for staying up all through the night to finish it, I just couldn't stop once I got started.
> 
> Gah, I can't believe this is finished! Cheers~


End file.
